Chapter7. Taken
1013 Words
Damien reached past her, plucking the coffee from Gwen’s hands before she could take another sip. His eyes locked on hers as he raised the mug to his lips and drained it in one long gulp. When he set it down, a satisfied hum rumbled in his chest.
Her mouth parted, stunned.
He caught her hand gently, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a touch that sent sparks darting through her nerves. “Come with me.”
The words weren’t a command, not quite. His tone was softer than she’d expected, careful—as though he were reining in the sharp edges of himself just for her.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. Still, her feet moved, following him. Each step she took made her pulse quicken until it thundered in her ears. This was it.
She was about to be claimed.
At least he had married her first, she thought bitterly. At least he hadn’t stripped her of that honor. But honor or not, nothing would change the reality: she was his, trapped in his world, in his arms.
He led her through the hallways until they stopped before a door she hadn’t seen before. When he pushed it open, her breath snagged.
The room glowed with warmth and color, red bouquets lined the walls, their petals scattered across the floor in a trail that led to the massive bed in the center. Candles flickered in crystal holders, their light bathing the space in a golden haze.
Gwen froze, speechless. Who would have thought Damien, the ruthless man who had stormed her wedding and stolen her away, would have even a trace of romance in him?
But if he thought roses could calm her, he was wrong. Her nerves rattled harder than ever.
Damien stepped closer, his presence wrapping around her like a cloak. He tilted her chin up, forcing her eyes to meet his. “Just relax, princess,” he murmured, his voice velvet over steel. “Trust me.”
Before she could answer, his arms swept beneath her. She let out a startled gasp as he lifted her effortlessly, holding her as though she weighed nothing.
Her hands clutched at his shoulders, instinct betraying her.
He carried her to the bed, lowering her onto the sheets scattered with petals. His body followed, a solid wall of heat and strength above her. His eyes searched hers, dark and unwavering, before his lips claimed hers in a kiss that stole the air from her lungs.
She gasped, her fingers curling into the fabric at his shoulders. The sound drew a deep chuckle from his chest, low and wicked.
“Easy princess,” he whispered against her lips, before kissing her again—deeper, hungrier.
Her resistance crumbled under the weight of his mouth, his taste, his dominance. When his lips left hers, they trailed lower, grazing the line of her jaw, the hollow of her throat. Every brush of his mouth unraveled her further, scattering her nerves into something hotter, sharper, needier.
She shivered, torn between fear and desire.
That morning, Damien showed her what it meant to be a woman. He hushed her trembling cries with his mouth, kissing away her fears, guiding her with a patience that contradicted the ruthless reputation he carried. His touch was possessive, his movements deliberate, but beneath the claim was something unexpected: gentleness.
He took her slowly, like a man intent on memorizing every sound she made, every shiver, every whispered breath of his name.
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Damien didn’t sleep.
He propped himself on one elbow, his gaze fixed on the woman curled against him. Gwen’s hair spilled across the pillow like fire, her lashes resting against flushed cheeks. She slept soundly, unaware of the chaos she had ignited inside him.
She had been perfect. Too perfect.
He had meant only to take her, to claim her body and remind her she belonged to him. But instead, she had slipped past his walls, tangled herself into places he didn’t want her.
Damn her.
Damn him.
He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. If he let himself get too entangled, she’d undo him and Damien did not get undone.
Sliding from the bed, he dressed quickly and padded downstairs. The house was stirring, the faint sounds of movement in the kitchen drifting toward him. He found the head maid and gave curt instructions.
“Prepare something heavy,” he ordered. “Eggs. Meat. Fruit. Everything. It’s for me and my wife.”
The maid’s brows lifted slightly, but she nodded and hurried away.
Damien’s jaw flexed as he turned toward his office. He didn’t intend to stop, not now that he’d had her. Gwen was his, and he would take her again and again until the thought of escape never crossed her mind. But for that, she needed to be fed, rested, cared for. He would break her with possession, not neglect.
In his office, the scent of leather and smoke greeted him. He dropped into his chair, snatched up his phone, and dialed a number.
The line clicked, and a voice answered.
“Report.”
“I want updates on the shipment,” Damien said coldly, his softness from earlier burned away in an instant. “And find Marcus. I don’t care what it takes. He doesn’t vanish from my radar. Not now.”
“Yes, boss.”
The call ended.
Damien leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against the desk.
Wife or no wife. Bride or no bride.
He still intended to have his revenge.
Damien’s revenge would come in a way no one could have predicted. Marcus had taken his brother’s life and run like a coward, and for that, every person who dared to shield him would face the weight of his wrath. Friends, allies, even those who thought themselves untouchable would learn the cost of standing in his way. Yet through it all, Gwen would remain apart from the storm. She was his wife now, untouchable and protected, even as he delivered justice with cold, deliberate hands.
- Writer
